


The Reincarnation

by Not_So_Dark_One



Series: Daenerys and Sansa - the love stories that should have been [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Braavos, Daenerys Targaryen Deserves Better, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Daenerys Targaryen-centric, Daenerys is called Aerion, Daenerys is raised in Braavos, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Don't Like Don't Read, Essos, Eventual Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, F/M, Male Daenerys Targaryen, Reincarnation, Slow Burn, Swords & Sorcery, Viserys dies early
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_So_Dark_One/pseuds/Not_So_Dark_One
Summary: When Daenerys Targaryen is murdered by her nephew-lover, Jon Snow, The Lord of Light feels bad for abandoning his champion, after she had fulfilled her mission in destroying the White Walkers and The Night King, the living embodiment of his enemy, The Great Other. The God decides to atone for this mistake by reincarnating her and giving her a different life, which would be outside of the continent, where much of her grief happened. He reincarnates her as a man, a sex which has more power in the world of ice and fire, and makes it so that she, now he, can live a different, and better life. She is thus reborn as Aerion Targaryen on Dragonstone amid the most violent storm in living memory, as the last child of King Aerys II Targaryen and Queen Rhaella Targaryen. His mother dies in childbirth and Ser Willem and his brother, Viserys escape to Braavos. There they live with him, under the protection of Sealord Ferrego Antaryon, a close friend of Ser Willem's. One night, both his guardian and brother die, when their home is located by Baratheon assassins. Aerion is saved by Quaithe who brings him to Ferrego to live with him.
Relationships: Bellegere Otherys (courtesan)/Daenerys Targaryen, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon/Margaery Tyrell, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sansa Stark/Daenerys Targaryen, Sansa Stark/Original Male Character(s), Tyrion Lannister/Shae
Series: Daenerys and Sansa - the love stories that should have been [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1745065
Comments: 56
Kudos: 110





	1. The Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> Please review this. I want to know if you would like me to continue writing this into a fic. I have began writing it on the fanon wiki site, but I want to know if you would like me to make it into a fully-fledged fic.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a trial chapter. I don't know how it will turn out. Or why I am writing it. Give it a go and see if you like it.
> 
> It is more of a prologue. For more information, check the notes in the end.

"Your tongue is sharp indeed. Your sword on the other hand..." 

Aerion had been fighting that man for less than a few minutes and he was starting to pity the poor guy. He had no idea just how good Aerion was with a blade. _Then again, not all men were trained by the First Sword of Braavos._ Qarro Volentin was known as Qarro of the Bloody Blade for a reason. And this poor fella was about to learn just how swiftly he can lose. 

Aerion swung his blade right towards the opponent's wrist, succeeding in cutting his finger off and making his rival drop his blade. Another swing at his legs forced him to fall into the Moon Pool. The laughter he hears close by, shows that he has an audience. Half of them were cheering for him, the others wanted a fight.

"Well, well, well, would you look at that?", he heard the voice of his mentor. "Why the fuck are you fighting this one?"

"Fought him." he corrected. "I've won. In case you've yet to notice."

"And?"

"He said the Nightingale was the most beautiful woman in the world. I argued that such a title belongs to the Black Pearl. I was clearly right."

"Indeed you were, my noble knight." The voice of the aforementioned goddess rang sweetly to his ears. Her light brown skin shone in the bright sun, while the umbrella held by one of her suitors did little to shadow her beauty. "You have earned yourself an evening in my company."

"Let it be tomorrow for the Day of the Uncloaking." As handsome as he was, he had little difficulty to arrange himself a date for the occasion, but the Black Pearl was better than anyone.

"Consider yourself fortunate. You will attend the final day of the festivities with the most beautiful woman in the world." The jealous murmurs of the people were all the ovations he needed. 

"Oi, enough of that, unless any of you buggers would like a taste of his steel. Or mine.", the crowd began to disperse, obviously unwilling such a confrontation. Bravos were feisty by nature, but not stupid. "Now come with me. The Sealord wants a word."

Aerion was led towards the Sealord's Palace, a vast complex of marble buildings, which housed the Sealord's family. That currently included Ferrego Antaryon, a man who has held the post for 50 years, and his adoptive son. That would be Aerion.

Aerion Targaryen, Head and last member of the distinguished House Targaryen - the house which ruled the western continent of Westeros as kings for 300 years. Until they were overthrown that is. Not that Aerion could remember any of it. When all that happened, he was just being born. Not that this stopped the Usurper from sending assassins after him every once In a while. Failed though. All of them. Well, they succeeded in killing his elder brother Viserys and their protector, Ser Willem Darry. Since then, the First Sword of Braavos, Qarro Volentin stood between him and his would be killers. At age 10, he decided to start teaching him how to kill them himself. He has learned that well. 

He was being led towards the Sealord's menageries - a vast zoo of rare animals, which were brought from the ends of the world to entertain the ruler of the city. It was there that he met his elderly stepfather. 

"Ah, my boy. You took your time." The elderly man said. He was dressed richly, tall and strong, despite his 76 years of age. He was quite fit and the thin, long mustache, which flowed in the manner of the men of Yi-Yi, gave him a look of wisdom and agelessness. "I remember how as a child, you would stay here and pretend the animals were your friends. You would give a name to each of them."

"I often forgot what I named them and so they rarely retained their names for long. And I was their friend, I did feed them for a whole summer."

"Indeed. Life is difficult to maintain, so it should always be valued. Always remember that."

"Why is it that you summoned me here?"

"I thought that I taught you better than to fight for such a stupid reason as a courtesan." He switched to seriousness. "Plenty of young fools around the city to do so, I thought I wasn't raising another."

"Hey, I was just arranging myself a date."

"HA." that was as much of a laughter as he would hear from the man. Ferrego was hardly one for laughing. "See Qarro, another warrior."

"What's bad about that?"

"Warriors die young." His stepfather left the silence to settle in and when Aerion nodded, the Sealord urged him to follow him. "Come with me. We are going to the Iron Bank."

The Iron Bank of Braavos. _The biggest meanest bank in the world_. A short summary, but an accurate one. The bank had a ruthless reputation for collecting debts - be it from peasants or kings. Peasants would sell their children into slavery to pay them back. Kings would find themselves surrounded by rivals for their throne. "The Iron Bank will have its due." as they say. Every city in Essos had at least one bank, yet combine them into one and it would still not be something to contend with the Iron Bank. A secret, albeit an open one in Braavos, the bank was ruled by a council of shareholders and keyholders. Those who were richest were the ones with the loudest voices.

Just like anywhere else within the city, the bank's headquarters was reachable by boat. The bank was a massive grey building with huge columns supporting its ascent towards the sky. The building was topped by a gold-plated dome. Massive iron doors guarded the entrance to the building. When the gates opened, they were greeted by a lone banker, who introduced himself as Tycho Nestoris. 

"My boy, you have reached your sixteenth year. As such, you can now gain access to your family's vaults."

"Family vaults? House Targaryen maintained vaults here?"

"Indeed. As Head of your family, we have kept those vaults safe from the hands of your family's successors." _Usurpers_ , he thought, _but the bank cares little for kings and titles_. "Those vaults were first opened by Gaeron Targaryen, one of your ancestors."

"I do not recall that name." Aerion's brother had forced him to memorize the entire family tree, yet he could not recall such a name. 

"It is understandable. Perhaps his grandson's name would be more familiar - Aenar Targaryen."

"The Exile? Are you telling me these vaults have been active since before the Doom of Valyria?" 

"Indeed. Aegon I Targaryen used them to fund his conquest, but for some reason they have been left untouched since." Before he could ask, the banker answered his next question. "The vaults hold about 100 million Golden Dragons in Westerosi currency. It is enough to make you a keyholder, my lord. Congratulations." 

"A Golden Keyholder rather. But, yes my boy. You are the richest man in Braavos. You could even fund an invasion of Westeros if you so choose."

"No."

"What?"

"I said, no. I have no designs on the Iron Throne. Not yet anyways. Braavos is my home."

"And we are all proud to have you, my lord. Now come, I am sure you would like to review your newly acquired possessions."

* * *

And thus within a day, he became the richest man in Braavos. Not that he was not famous already, being the handsome son-figure of the childless yet popular Sealord of Braavos. Much to his chagrin, he had to get used to dressing more lavishly. He took on to wearing a coat of dark purple, so dark it was almost black. Beneath it, he wore doublet which carried the appearance of a crossbreed between armor and a ribcage. He still did not let anyone touch his hair though, leaving it long and wavy, two strands flowing above his torso, the rest along his back.

Purely on instinct, he had decided to buy off the Valyrian Steel Sword Dark Sister, which had belonged to his family. When asked how they got it, the Bank officials told him that the blade was given to them in exchange for the settlement of the debts of the Night's Watch, who apparently had gotten it from one of their Lord Commanders - Bloodraven. The blade was suitable for the water dance, of which Aerion was a master, and was Valyrian steel besides, so it was indeed a catch.

He had even purchased a manse in the city, even though he hardly needed that, for he preferred to live within the Sealord's Palace. He would miss the menagerie. And Ferrego and Qarro, of course. 

Going in front of the mirror in his bedchambers, he attached the necklace, which his brother tended to wear along with his ring - a gaudy thing of onyx, with a ruby shaped like the dragon from his sigil. It was beautiful, of that much he was certain, but he was not used to displaying his sigil. In the Free Cities, families did not beat themselves over their chests for a beast, plastered on some piece of cloth.

Another ring however caught his eyes. His mother's ring. He had always hated looking at it, partly because of Viserys' constant reminders that she died, giving birth to him. He put it on though, tired of past grief. 

_I am the last dragon now. Shame of it was never there._

For a brief moment his vision distorted. Instead of his own reflection, he saw a Valyrian-looking woman in the mirror, bloodstained and terrifying. 

"Scary, isn't she?"

Aerion abruptly turned around, only to see his other mentor - Quaithe - the woman from Asshai, whose crimson mask never left her face.

"Who the hell was that?"

"Someone great. Someone terrible. You will know soon enough. It has begun."

"What has? What the hell are you talking about, you creepy woman?" And creepy she indeed was. He knew she was a woman only because of her voice - face forever obscured by an ornate crimson red mask, body concealed within black robes.

"Is that the way to speak to the woman, who has made you into the most powerful sorcerer this side of the Bone Mountains?" Yes, she had taught him magic, a terrible power he hated to use. Power, nonetheless.

"Well, you are the one sneaking inside other people's rooms.", he japed, trying to forget the terrifying apparition. "Sooo, what are you doing here?"

"Your father wants you to come with him. He is to hold court. He wants you there.", she says in the same monotonous tone she always uses.

"And he sends you?"

"I was on my way."

"Whatever for?"

"You will know." _I hate that woman's cryptic nature._ "For now, come with me."

He stood next to his stepfather, standing beside the Sealord's throne, an exquisite work of art, build from obsidian of all things. 

The meeting was as dull as usual. Not that he did not appreciate politics and the intricate games, he did as much as the next man. It's just that it was all the same, nothing new. Trade deals. Military alliances which would never come to fruition, because Braavos detested slavery, which was prevalent in most of the Free Cities. _As if there aren't better ways to get labor. Don't these fools realize that paying servants would be cheaper than to buy them. That much if nothing else._

Nevertheless, Braavos was the greatest of them all, in no small part thanks to the Iron Bank, a representative of which was always there, in the form of Tycho Nestoris. An unpleasant man, but then again he was a banker, it was not his fault. 

His head started ringing and his vision distorted again. 

The throne room transformed into another one. A throne made of swords stood before him, metal dripping from it like water. The Iron throne, he recognized, albeit smaller than what he had imagined from Viserys' tales. The Great Hall was ruined, the sky visible yet covered with clouds. Ash rained above him.

And then there were screams. The voices of men, women, children. All of them screamed in unison around him. At him.

Knowing that it was but a vision, he put up a front of calm, while he was being tormented by whatever this was. _Magic. What else? She knows what this is. She must help me, damnit._ He held out until the meeting was over and then hurried towards his bedchambers, where he faints from exhaustion.

When he wakes, Quaithe is there with but these words: "Soon, all will be revealed." 

* * *

The Day of the Uncloaking has arrived. Held annually to celebrate Braavos' reveal to the world, the holiday is celebrated for ten days and nights. The whole city was celebrating, but the biggest festivities were held outside the Sealord's Palace. Just like everyone else, he wore a mask as it was custom. He had decided to pick an ornate dragon mask. While most would consider this to be a bit too brazen a move for someone who is being haunted by assassins (among other things these days), Aerion was practically an expert at dealing with assassins. Rule number one: let them come to you.

It had been quite recently when a wine seller had tried to have him taste a cup of "fine Arbor Gold". As soon as he had picked the cup, he noticed his ruby ring glow red. It had been a gift from Quaithe, which could detect poison. The assassins had a look of shock, when Aerion cut his throat. Packing it in salt and sending it to Robert Baratheon might have been overdoing it, but then again he always paid attention to the details. He was on guard not only for that reason though.

A normal person would be freaked out by all the creepy visions, but Aerion Targaryen was hardly a normal person. Not with all the terrifying things Quaithe has been showing him since he was 12. Compared to watching her use the darkness inside a room in order to tear apart an assassin, seeing these disturbing visions is hardly that scary. Still....

Every instinct he had screamed at him. 

Forcing himself to return to the present, he took the hand of the Black Pearl and directed them to the dancing floor. The rumor that he had suddenly become the richest man in Braavos was spreading like wildfire, if all the eyes on him were any indication. 

"A dance with a king? My, my. Aren't I a lucky woman?"

"Feeling is mutual. And I think I told you not to call me that."

"You are so different from your brother. I seem to recall he would try to force everyone to kowtow to him."

"He was an idiot, still living in the past. I am not."

"No royal ambitions then?"

"My only ambition right now is to convince you that I am worth spending the evening with."

"Well it is rare that my clients are so handsome. And rich on top of it all. I may just decide to spend more than the evening with you." She leaned in to whisper into his ear. "Maybe even the whole night, if you are lucky."

It was the shouting of the other guests, which attracted his attention to the sky. A bright red comet was lighting the sky like a red torch. That is when another vision hit him. It was unlike the others, no screaming. No other places. Just the world around him. 

A world on fire. Everything was burning, the people, the buildings the water, everything. He tried not to show it, but he could barely stay focused, when all he could hear was the rustling of fire.

It was the shouting for help that got him back into reality. 

The Titan of Braavos was roaring. Except that was not the celebration roar. That was the sound for war. It spread through the air just once before it abruptly stopped, yet the reason was clear. The city was under attack.

Out of nowhere ragged men of all colors began to appear, armed to the teeth. "Get back, get back. Call the guards. Call the city guards, for fuck's sake. Whoever is armed, draw your weapons now."

The guests began running even before Qarro had started barking out orders and Aerion drew his sword. He followed Qarro out on the streets, finding chaos and fire. The enemies appeared to be coming out of anywhere, raiding and pillaging as if there is no tomorrow. _For them, there isn't._

"Commander!" They heard a shout from the distance and saw a wounded soldier running towards them. "I am sorry. We never saw them coming."

"They? Who's they? What the fuck is going on?"

"Ironborn. That fucking ship with the black sails. It is....it is....The Silence."

"Euron fucking Greyjoy!" Qarro exclaimed. Even so far away from the Iron Islands, the name of Euron Greyjoy was infamous. "How many?"

"They came out of some mist, sire. Three more pirate ships distracted our coast guard and the fucking ironborn sneaked through the Titan's pass. There have to have been more of those fuckers already inside the city. They are active mainly on the Golden Isle, the Richman's district and the Core."

"Aerion, gather as many guards as you can and evacuate the citizens. I will lead the defense."

"Aye."

Aerion rushed back to help do just that. He swung Dark Sister at the first Ironborn scumbag he saw and cut off his head. _Valyrian Steel is indeed sharp._ He went for the next, followed by another, until he shoved his sword through the back of the skull of a rather disgusting looking man, who was trying to rape Bellegere. 

"Are you alright?"

"Thanks to you, my shining knight." She was clearly shaken, but otherwise unhurt.

"You never stop, do you? Look, head inside the Palace along with the other guests, while we clean this place up. Alright?"

"I will do as you say, Aerion Targaryen. Valar Morghulis."

"Valar Dohaeris."

It took him a while, but he managed to guide the remaining guests behind the great gates of the palace. Ferrego was alright as well, the old man having killed one of the attackers. Aerion commanded the guards to keep the great doors closed until he returned. He rushed back onto the streets, where he chased after the Ironborn, many of whom were already being defeated. _At least those in sight. Gods know what is going on at the other isles._

After wondering through the streets, he finally found Qarro fighting Euron Greyjoy himself. The mad fucker was swinging a large battle axe at the First Sword, whose thin blade was ill matched against him. Before he could reach him however, a large man with dirks got in his way and almost took his head. Almost.

"I am gonna kill you." The brute roared and swung his dirks at him. Aerion dodged to the left and shoved his sword right through the reaver's armor and into his stomach. "Fuck."

"When you go to hell, tell them Aerion sends you." The Dragon twisted the ancient sword and removed it from the Ironborn's body.

He searched for Qarro and saw something he definitely didn't like. The First Sword of Braavos had lost his hand and was about to lose his life. There was no way that Aerion could reach him in time, so he had to resort to magic. He hated doing so in combat, for it felt a bit like cheating, but the situation demanded it. He ran towards them and used his magic to push Euron back, ruining his balance and forcing the Ironborn fall on his ass. 

"You alright?"

"Yeah.", Qarro got to his feet, one hand clutching the other. "Fucker got my bloody hand."

"No, it's over there. You can keep it." Both of them turned at the direction from where the voice originated and they saw him.

Euron Greyjoy's face spoke madness. Black hair, face drenched in blood. And his eye....one eye was black like the dragonglass on his coat, shining with malice. He saw the madman lick his axe clean of blood like a savage. 

*slurp* "Mmm, delicious. You know, It's been a while since I've felt the sting of magic on my flesh. I've fucked with the minds of dozens of sorcerers from red priests to Qartheen warlocks, so that they would teach me their spells, but you are one tough fucker. You might teach me something new."

"I will teach you....how to die."

Euron clapped. "Bravo. Well said. You have a taste with words, I give you that. But are you as good with your sword?"

Euron charged at him with his axe and Aerion pushed Qarro out of the way. Aerion dodged him in time and struck back. Euron parried with his axe again, the bloody weapon too heavy for Aerion to push him back, so he jumped out of the line. 

"Qarro, go." He shouted to his mentor. "I will deal with him."

"Yes, Qarro go. He will deal with me." Euron mocked him again. "You know, how about we make this a little bit more interesting?!" Euron ran towards the Silence, the creepy ship standing in wait just by the corner, and Aerion followed. Only by his instinct did he jump as high as he could, when he reached the corner. A spear, attached to a chain, had launched right in his direction. It had been obviously launched by the Silence. _That's one fucking ship._

His legs having landed him on the chain, Aerion ran towards the ship along it as fast as his legs could carry him and then jumped on deck. _Where the fuck is he? I was right behind him._

A sharp pain struck him in his back and he was dragged to his knees.

"You were a good kill." 

Euron lifted his axe in the air and swung it down.

That was when it hit him. A feeling. Anger. Hatred. Names he did not know became known to him. _Rhaegal. Missandei._ Who they were, he did not know, but he felt grief. Grief and hatred, bitter and thick, paving the way for something greater. A word. One word rang in his ears, a female voice - rasp and dripping with hatred. 

**"DRAKARYS"** He spat out and breathed fire on his foe, deadly silver flames unlike everything he has ever done, mixed with his screams of fury. Euron's axe melted, faced with his fury, its owner burned like a large candle. Ignoring the pain, Aerion rose to his feet and continued to spit fire, until he ran out of breath.

The whole ship was burning, whatever survivors of his onslaught there were, were running away. Euron was ashes. And Aerion had fainted.

* * *

His dreams were different. They always were. Thing that had happened. Things that were to happen. Things that were happening. Dragon dreams, Quaithe had called them. Yet now what he was seeing was like another life entirely. 

His life...

Her life...

**Daenerys Targaryen.**

That's who he used to be. Who he was. Who he is. Or was he? 

A husband. A dead child. Three dragons. Deaths and betrayal. Conquest and bitter defeat. Death. So much death. Ser Barristan. Ser Jorah. Sweet Missandei. All those Dothraki who followed her. Rhaegal and Viserion. 

Jon Snow. **SNOW.** That murderous, self-righteous, useless, little.....hero. Savior. My slayer. And I.....the monster.

_Am I still the man,...who did that...thing?_

He conceded to the urge to open his eyes, trying to force himself out of this other life. He found himself inside his chambers inside the Sealord's Palace. Surrounded by friends.....friends he did not deserve. Or did he? 

"Ah, my boy. Finally. I knew you were strong and would be alright." His stepfather exclaimed. He appeared uninjured. 

"What happened?" He asked, his voice rasp and tired, more so that it should be. 

"You had fainted after what you did on that ship." Qarro answered. His hand was bandaged, clearly a stump, but he looked otherwise hale. "I ran after you and managed to save you before that burning boat had sunk to the bottom of the lagoon. The City Guards managed to apprehend the rest of the pirates. We are still accounting for the losses, but we secured the city and taking care of the wounded."

"How did they do that?"

"That fucker Euron must have used that odd mist around the city, which first appeared a few days back, to hide his ships. Many Ironborn must have already been in the city before the attack. But it is over now. We dealt with it. You rest now. Tomorrow you have a ceremony to attend to."

"What ceremony?"

"Blame him. I just suggested that I can't fight well without my sword hand and that ass of a stepfather of yours decided to appoint you as my successor."

"You shall be declared the Savior of Braavos, my boy. Let the whole world celebrate your victory over the barbarians."

"Oh, Lord. Politics. My favorite."

"Come on, old man. Let's leave the kid to take a break.", Qarro pushed Ferrego out of the room. "By the way, someone wants to see you."

"Wha-"

As soon as they left, she came in. Bellegere Otherys. "Why are you here?"

"To thank you, my dear lord. You saved me. In case you have forgotten." _Maybe…._ "The Gods only know what those savages would have done to me, had you not intervened."

"Raped you. Or killed you." He spoke absentmindedly. "It is their way."

"Quite. And besides...." She unclasped her dress, revealing her supple brownish skin naked underneath. "I did promise my shining knight a night with me. I cannot possibly leave my hero unattended now, could I?"

She crawled into his bed, removing the covering. Her breasts pressed against his naked chest and laid a kiss on his lips. "Tonight, I am yours. Do tell me, my lovely scion of Valyria, have you ever had a woman before?"

"No.", he barely answered, his breath getting stuck in his chest. _At least not in this life._

"Then tonight, we will change that." She continued peppering hot kisses along his neck, going lower and lower and making him forget that it was daytime and not night.

* * *

By the time he rose from the bed, it may have already become evening. Or close to it in any case. The sky was considerably darker, that's for sure. He glanced at the naked woman in his bed and even with all those horrid memories, he couldn't help but smile a little. He stood in front of the mirror, looking at himself. There were no more visions. No need for them. He remembered now.

And all thanks to his mother's ring and Euron fucking Greyjoy of all people. 

His.

Her.

Weird. 

Was he a woman in a man's body or something like that?

He glanced downwards and looked himself up at the mirror. Nice new body. Well hung.

 _I would definitely sleep with myself, if I could._ He smirked to himself. _But why? Why am I....reborn? Why as a man? What is this supposed to be?_

"An apology from the One True God for abandoning you, Daenerys Stormborn."

He turned around and saw Quaithe, standing there like a shadow. 

"It is Aerion Targaryen now, Quaithe of the Shadow.", he said, his voice monotonous, bitter. "It has been a long time, Quaithe. A very, very long time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the weirdly described battle scene. Those are not my specialty.
> 
> https://gameofthronesfanon.fandom.com/wiki/Aerion_Targaryen for SPOILERS!!!
> 
> Don't be afraid to check the spoilers and comment on your views or ask me questions.


	2. The Sealord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Events take place during the second season. Aftermath of the Attack on Braavos and Aerion recovering his memories. A Sealord braces for death and a new one must take his place.

Donning a robe, he quietly leads Quaithe out of the room. He had no desire to wake the sleeping beauty in his bed. 

His. He would have to get used to that. 

Once they were at a reasonable distance, he began:

"How long have you known? And don't lie to me, I know you know more than you've ever let on."

"Since the beginning.", she answered firmly. "He sent me to help raise you."

"Why? Why this? I deserved to burn in whatever hell exists for what I did."

"You are the unburnt." she stated simply.

"Don't play tricks on me and just explain, damnit!" He roared. 

"It is as I told you: The Lord of Light felt he had abandoned you and thus caused your downfall, so he gave you a second chance."

"Why? Because I burnt more people alive than all his priests combined?"

"No, because you are his champion. You always were - his Lightbringer."

"Oh, enough of that.", he shouted. _This is getting tiresome. These priests are always so cryptic._ Then he remembered something else. "Does this mean that I have to fight the White Walkers again?"

Silence.

"Well then, if you think that I will rush to Westeros a second time, then you are a bloody fool."

"No one expects you to."

"Then what is it that your God wants from me this time?"

"To commit to your destiny, Breaker of Chains." _Another unfinished business of Daenerys Stormborn._

"One doesn't anticipate asking this, but....tell me.....what happened after I got murdered."

* * *

Aerion stood on one of the countless balconies of the Sealord's Palace and looked at the city.

It has been weeks since that night. The dead were buried. The invaders hanged. The city rebuilt. The worst has passed. Or at least that is how it was supposed to be. 

His visions had stopped. He would've been jovial at the prospect, if only the screams had vanished. He could still hear it sometimes, when he closed his eyes. He could see her, too. Himself, in that other life. He was her. And she was him.

They were one and the same, yet different. Or were they?

The rage was still there, unfiltered hatred for everything west of here. Or south. 

He glanced south towards the cliffs, guarding the city's land border, and couldn't help but remember that out there millions of slaves were chained and branded, waiting for freedom. Waiting for their Breaker of Chains. And to the west...

The game of thrones. It is what that wretched dwarf had called it. And he was right. It was just an endless game of politics - wars, plots, assassinations.... 

Apparently, after his murder, the idiotic lords gathered and in an apparently Stark-dominated so-called Great Council, they chose Bran Stark as king. A ridiculous notion in her view. Daenerys didn't interact much with the boy but it seemed to her as empathic as a tree stump and just as interested in the politics of the Seven Kingdoms. Jon, the other hero of the story, was sent into exile in a move that seemed to him as nothing else but a plot to completely eradicate the dragon's bloodline. The boy king proved an ineffective one and how not, with Tyrion as hand. The slimy little shit.

A smirk came to his face as he recalled what Quaithe had told him about that. Apparently, after Bran the Broken had died, there was another civil war in Westeros, because the lords could not agree on the next king. _What a shock!? As if those people were able to govern anything larger than a barfight._

"Robert Baratheon is dead, my king."

"Do not call me that, Jorah Mormont. I believe I have already told you so."

 _Yes, that's right._ His bear was here. At first, he was shocked to see him. He wanted to run and hug him, but then he remembered his story here. An impoverished ex-Westerosi lordling, whose wife abandoned him for a Lysene merchant prince. Same as in the other life, except that here Jorah had to travel to Braavos to keep an eye on....well...me. He had taken a position in the city guards, keeping secret the reason for his exile. _An ex slaver won't be well accepted in Braavos, however brief his occupation may have been._

He also still worked for Varys. And Aerion wanted Daenerys Targaryen's best friend back. So, enough fucking misery. 

"Tell me, Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island,", Aerion addressed him without turning back to face him. "what do you think of home?"

"I....Westeros is a country at war with itself, my....First Sword. If you ask the Sealord to support you, I know he would. You will have ships and the rightful claim to the throne. And you will obviously be better than the other claimants."

Jorah knew that to be true. He had known the young man for years and despite working for his enemies, he had no doubt the boy would make an excellent king.

"I was talking about your home - Bear Island. Do you miss it?"

The question struck Jorah right in the gut. _Aye, I miss my home and the people I've wronged. That is why I am here._

"With all my heart."

 _And now for the test_. "Then why don't you use that sword right now? Cut off my head and make a run for it to the harbor. Take a ship to King's Landing and present my head to Joffrey Baratheon. He might even make you Warden of the North, given the present circumstances. Surely that will guarantee it better than the Usurper's little peace of paper that little bird slipped you at the market two days ago."

Jorah froze. _How does he know?_ "My king, I...."

Aerion turned around at last. Unlike the last time he had this conversation, his bear was not getting exiled. At least, hopefully. "My poor bear." he exclaimed. "I understand why you are doing this, but lets be honest. No pardon from King's Landing will ever make your family forgive you for what you did. They will not take you back. Stubborn, the northerners are."

Jorah's crushed heart made him fall on his knees. it was as if the truth was a mountain on top of his shoulders, dragging him down to the level he had been reduced to.

"I swear, I....just wanted to go home."

"Did you help the assassins who murdered Ser Willem and my brother? Were you among them?" That was one key detail, he wanted to know.

"No, I swear. I....when I heard of that, I came here, in the employ of the Spider to spy on you. I swear. I swear." Jorah the Andal was reduced to tears. "I am sorry for lying to you. I...I will go."

"Braavos is your home now too, you know. You have to choose, Jorah. Stay by my side as my friend and ally and spy on me no more or leave."

In the end, Jorah had pledged his life and sword to Aerion and the dragon's smile returned to his face for the first time since the Day of the Uncloaking. 

Jorah on the other hand was relieved. While sad about the truth of the rightful king's words

"Ser Jorah." Ferrego approached them, flanked by guards. "If you would excuse us, I need to speak with my son."

"Yes, your Serene highness."

Jorah, still rattled by what had happened, left the scene. The Sealord commanded his guards to step back. "He is my First Sword, I am safe." he had said. 

"That went rather well.", Ferrego exclaimed, after the guards were out of earshot. "Don't look surprised, I knew who had sent him here."

"And you let him in the palace?" 

"Quaithe said I should. I never liked that woman, or the things she taught you, but she is not a liar, nor someone who wishes you or Braavos harm. That was enough for me."

"I know." Aerion agreed with a heavy heart. "If only she spoke more clearly as to her intentions."

"We have finished investigating." Ferrego abruptly changed the subject.

"And?"

"It turns out that some of the captured Ironborn were sent here undercover to help them attack from the inside."

"We already knew that, I believe?" 

"The city was defended, that is all that matters."

"And the damages?"

"Will be paid for by the Iron Bank. Surprisingly with no interest."

"How generous of them. I am certain that they want to help the city, which feeds them. But then again, they always think of profit first. I mean, why else would they conduct indirect business with slavers?"

"Indirect being the key word, my dear boy. If they had to do otherwise, we would have to stop doing business with half the known world."

Aerion scoffed, but then he heard his stepfather coughing and turned around, to see Ferrego holding a napkin to his face and quickly tossing it away. When Ferrego is called away on official duty, Aerion brushes the piece of cloth with his boot. There was blood on it.

* * *

"What the fuck?"

That is no way to address the leader of Braavos, but Aerion was pissed. He tossed the napkin to Ferrego's feet and continued. "Care to explain this? Are you dying?"

The old man sighed, clearly unwilling to argue. "Everybody is dying. No one lives forever. It is only a matter of when." Before he could retort, the Sealord continued. "I am not scared and neither should you."

_Great! Another person I care for dying. Another one maimed. So far, this new life is not much different._

"You should consider your future though."

"My future? I told you already half a dozen times, I have-"

"-no interest in the Iron Throne, I know." Ferrego sighed. "I was kind of hoping you would've reconsidered by this point, somewhat hopeful that I could give it to you, before I died, but..."

"How long?"

"My physicians have informed me that I have but a few moons left. Listen now, whenever a Sealord dies, another must rise to take his place."

"Elections then?"

"Yes. And knowing how I came to power, I can assure you that daggers would come out before long."

_Choosing one's leader seems like an idea option, but both Aerion and Daenerys knew just how bloody such a process could easily become. Even in the Free Cities. Ferrego has ruled for decades, entire generations have lived and died and known no other Sealord than Ferrego Antaryon._

"So....who would you pick as your successor?"

"The man before me."

………."What?......WHY are you so eager to put me on a throne?"

_Is it me? Do I have that effect on people?_

"My dear boy, surely you do not think that I forced you to attend most my meetings simply to have you bored to death?"

"On occasions." he muttered.

"I heard that. I am dying, not growing deaf."

"Why me?'

"For starters, to protect yourself."

"You think I can't?"

"My boy, in this world the only way to defend yourself is by having the power to do so. The only way to achieve what you desire is to have the power to do so. We both know that you detest slavery with a passion, that has only increased since the Battle. Quaithe has seen it in the flames. Were you to rise as Sealord, it would begin a chain of events that will end with you destroying the slave trade. It is an old dream of Braavos, you can fulfill."

 _It seems I am cursed to rule._ "I suppose also that if someone else were to take your place, they will not be too keen on somebody as popular with the people as myself to remain in the city." _The whole city called him Savior and chanted a Valyrian's name for the first time._

"Become the man we both know you can be. Kill the boy and let the man be born."

"I still sometimes wonder why you adopted me."

"Because you would have been on the streets without me. Willem was an old friend of mine, too. That helped."

_Aerion could only wonder why Ferrego did not adopt him or Viserys in Daenerys' life. Did he not exist there? Or was he different? Truth be told, he didn't care. He was his father, a better one than Aerys Targaryen could ever hope to be._

"Thank you. For everything you have done for me." Ferrego embraced him, his hands strong as iron, yet gentle. 

"You will handle yourself well, I know it."

"I will consider it." _That wretched game....it seems I am to be a player once more._

_I would pity the poor fools who would play against me. I am so done with playing fairly. Or mercifully._

* * *

Much like everything else to do with politics, he hated the board meetings of the Iron Bank. As a Golden Keyholder though, he was required to attend. A ruby encrusted golden key hung from his neck, symbolizing his stature in the hall, while all the men discussed unpaid debts, the one of the Iron Throne being mentioned constantly. Several men insinuated that "the new keyholder" could help with it, but Aerion flatly refused to do so, arguing that the debt was incurred by the Baratheons and Lannisters currently controlling it. 

With the War of the Five Kings waging on in Westeros, he reminded them that with no clear winner, there was no point even discussing it yet, though he advised against lending a single coin to the Lannisters. Or their rivals. Given the already massive debt, that was an easy decision for them. The rest of the meeting went on in a bit of fog, Aerion ignoring much of it.

After the council was finished, he went to leave, yet he was approached by Nestoris. 

"My lord, if we could have a little word, perhaps."

"I really hope its not about Westeros again."

"No, it is about a more local matter. Perhaps you have heard of our Sealord's illness?"

Aerion sighed. It had been three months since he had learned and Ferrego's condition had only worsened. Worse still, the servants were obviously talking.

"I have."

"I think that you would particularly like to participate in the oncoming choosing."

"Yeah? And why are you so certain?"

"The elections are a bloody and often chaotic process, but I have it on good authority that Tormo Fregar would be elected as the next Sealord."

"He isn't even dead yet and there are already those maneuvering for his spot. And why should I care so much?"

"I would think that you would disapprove of Tormo succeeding the man, he has been poisoning for over a year."

That got Aerion's attention and if looks could kill, Tycho Nestoris would be dead. "You better explain this." he hissed at the shorter man.

"Well, out esteemed Sealord has been ruling for decades now, it's a small wonder that Fregar became a bit impatient. I am afraid there is nothing to be done though. According to my information, the type of poison he has used is not curable and has already sufficiently damaged Antaryon's constitution."

"And how long have you known this exactly?"

"I have informants, who alas have found out about it just recently. Apparently, Tormo was overheard boasting in front of his employee that he would soon be residing in the Sealord's Palace."

"Give me one good reason not to just go to his home and burn him alive." He really needed one, because he was already running out of patience. _I should have known that someone as strong as the Old man would not just succumb to old age._

"Apart from it being illegal to do so without proof? Well, there is another matter. I have been made aware that you would like to run for the Sealordship yourself. I figured you would like to win first and then deal with him as you like."

"Oh, spare me the hypocrisy. The Iron Bank is more worried that the Fregar bank would take over Braavos if he becomes Sealord."

"Perhaps. And what better alternative than one of out own becoming Sealord in turn."

_Oh what the hell. I was going to try anyway. And once i do win.....Fregar burns._

* * *

Aerion formally submitted his name as candidate the following day. Of course, it wasn't as simple as that. The election was a very ridiculous process with which he was getting more and more familiar. 

First off, apparently one can submit their name as a candidate even while a Sealord is still alive. That is hardly surprising, given that death was such an unpredictable thing. Both Aerion and Daenerys knew that much. Looking over the great list, there were names from decades ago, which were never deleted.

_Jaero Caso and Qaren Volpos died five years ago for one thing._

According to Nestoris, names once submitted to the list were removed only upon a candidate's desire or death, but given that nobody had been looking at those lists for decades, some names remained despite those restrictions. 

Other than that, the election is held by the magisters and keyholders, much of whom were persuaded to back him by the Iron Bank's influence, his gold and popularity among the masses as the "savior of Braavos".

_That is why you made such a spectacle of it, didn't you old man?_

Fregar and his associates desperately tried to compete with him, but to no avail. Aerion had more gold than Fregar's entire bank held in its coffers. The race was on and Braavos could only hope to be ready for him.

* * *

Two moons after naming himself as a candidate, Ferrego Antaryon, 63th Sealord of Braavos died after a coughing fit. _Natural causes....poison I say and Tormo Fregar's fake consolences will turn to ashes in his mouth. Along with the rest of him._

The funeral was held with much pomp as is apparently custom. Per tradition, his heart was removed from his chest,carefully preserved in a box, to be deposited at the foot of his statue in the Canal of Heroes, once it is build that is. The rest of him is to be put on a boat, which is then fired upon and sunk at the bottom of the Drowned Town. 

He was accompanied by Bellegere Otherys, who by that point was a familiar presence in his company. Both public and private. He enjoyed her company a great deal, even though he knew not to put much hopes on it. _She is a courtesan, Aerion. Her job is to feign interest._ Regardless of what his mind was telling him, he took care to ignore it while with her. Loneliness was not something he desired.

Nevertheless, the elections began in earnest and the vast political machine began working to crown the 64th Sealord of Braavos.

_Small wonder why much of the world prefers conquest and inheritance. It's so much easier._

Seven days and three separate assassination attempts later, Aerion Targaryen was chosen with 47 to 14 votes in his favor. He had won.

The following day, he was crowned with the golden laurels and sworn in as the 64th Sealord of Braavos. And then - celebrations were in order.

And that is where he now was. At his manor, which won't be seeing much of him now that he has another home to inhabit, celebrating his victory. Well, he is to return to celebrating his victory after he deals with the man, at whose neck Ser Jorah's sword was pointed and Qarro was glaring. He had had a Qohorik smith by the name of Tobho Mott brought over to forge him a new hand. It was an intricate design of dragonbone, which allowed for limited movement of the fingers and had retracting Valyrian steel blades on it, which Qarro obviously liked, no matter how much he chafed at it. 

_An improvement on the old callused hand, in my opinion. I have felt the old thing far too often strike the back of my head._

"You know," he began addressing the troubled man, after focusing his attention back to his defeated rival. "there is a phrase used for men like you....what was it, oh yes....a sore loser."

"We know you were poisoning Ferrego, you elephant's dung." Qarro barked.

Perhaps emboldened by the fact that this was it for him, Tormo Fregar spoke back. "Look at me, you fools. I am old and gray. I won't survive waiting for another chance at rulership. I had to expedite things."

"Careful now." Aerion growled. "Or I might extend my displeasure towards your family, too."

That must have scared him. "You....Valyrian dog. You wouldn't dare."

"You poisoned the previous Sealord and tried to poison the current one." If it weren't for the enchanted ring, Quaithe had given him, he might have succeeded. "I don't think that anyone would argue too much about it. Ferrego was well liked and so am I."

"Bastard, you think I don't know what you are planning. You would wage war against he Free Cities in the vain hope of ending slavery. Don't you think if it were possible, Braavos as mighty as it is wouldn't have already done so?"

"I am not going to wage war, Tormo Fregar." Aerion got closer to his face, fire burning in the eyes of the dragonlord. "I will win it. You see, Essos will change at my whim." 

It was Daenerys Targaryen who took charge now, speaking through him from the past. "There used to be a time, when the whole world trembled at the mere mention of my name. Slavers filled their breeches with excrement, whenever they heard the dragon's roar and felt his flames. Children would chant my name and slaves would toss their broken collars at my feet."

 **They** ignored the confusion in the three men's faces and continued. "I will not fight the slave trade. I will **destroy** the slave trade. Those who stand against me, will burn."

"M-m-mad." Fregar shrieked. "As mad as your father."

It was at this point that Aerion/Daenerys could no longer contain themselves and cackled. "Madness is often indistinguishable from greatness, you poor deluded old fool. How pitiful that you would never learn." Aerion picked the poison-filled goblet and passed it to Fregar. "Consider this my one mercy. Drink this and your death will be a suicide. Grief struck you, as yet again your ambitions had failed. Refuse and I will have to kill you. Of course your family would try to seek revenge and I can't have that, so I will have to kill them, too."

"But Sealord-"

"So," Aerion ignored the former First Sword. "which is it to be?"

"I curse you, Aerion Targaryen. I-" Tired of curses, Aerion jammed the goblet in Fregar's mouth and forced the poisoned wine down his throat. The would be Sealord struggled and the chair fell over, but Aerion kept his grip. Clasping his hand to his mouth and nose, forced the old man to swallow it and Aerion watched as the light fled his eyes.

When he was sure that Tormo Fregar was no more, Aerion rose to his feet and brushed his hands clean in the cloth of Fregar's silken doublet.

"Any of you against this?"

"No, your Serene Highness." Qarro spoke first and was swiftly seconded by Jorah.

"Leave him here. Let it look like an accident. Now come, we have celebrations to attend to."

Aerion and his men returned inside the great hall of the manse as if nothing had happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I imagine Qarro Volentin to look like Mark Harmon (aka Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs from NCIS). I mean, won't he be perfect or what?  
> For those of you, who were confused by the ending of the chapter, well that is what happens when within your head exist the memories and sliiiiiight madness of a certain queen. Personally, I just wanted to add a more different element to it all. Hope you enjoy it.


	3. The Hegemon (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I realize I am getting through a lot of events rather quickly, but things are slowing down soon.
> 
> Here, Aerion's rise and some old faces resurface in the new world.

Being the Sealord was not as difficult as it may have seemed.

Due to being practically a crown prince around here, Aerion knew the players. The game. All of it. He knew how to handle the people of the city.

Yet, he had one goal. One vision. One purpose. It had crossed through time with him after all. His greatest undertaking.

"The End of slavery."

Those were the words he had told to his advisers. To the bankers. To everyone.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but..."

And there it goes. The excuses. For all its bravado about warring on slavery, when it came to Braavosi elite, the only war they waged on was their own bad investments. And waging war on slavery was a bad investment for them. Even the Iron Bank had dealings with slavers. White it was nigh impossible to do business only with people who have no contact with slavery, The Bank had been up to some very shady dealings with a lot of prominent slavers, which directly ran against the laws of Braavos. Such information could well result in lynching from the mob, if not outright seizure of properties and prison....

Well, if one had proof, of which Aerion had none.

In another life, Aerion would say _drakarys_ and make the problem go away. He could still do that. While he still had trouble locating the dragon eggs, all the city knew what he had done to the Silence and Euron Greyjoy. Those bankers in front of him would be ash and he could go on with his life.

But not here. No, he had to do things differently. Slavery was an institution which would always thrive so long as it had a market, same as every product. If there were buyers, there will be markets. But what if....suddenly.....with no waring at all.....the markets went up in smoke? 

Literally. 

And figuratively. 

"Gentlemen, please. I understand certain interests would be touched here, yet I propose a way that would make us not just richer but almost far more powerful than ever before."

And there it was. The strong words, which made even the dullest men listen.

"What I propose is economic warfare. We shall impose conditions on taking loans from our banks to the merchants of the other Free Cities. We could force them to abandon slavery."

"Sire, forgive me but-"

"I am not finished."

"Sorry-"

"We shall organize revolts inside the Slaver Cities. If successful, that would mean the end of the source of more than 90% of all slaves in the region. Thus, the other Free Cities would need us, Braavos, to help stabilize their economies."

"We will effectively rule them is what our Sealord is saying." Added Tycho Nestoris. Aerion had appointed him as treasurer in the palace as a favor. "Surely that is worth a slight decrease in revenue, a temporary one at that."

The man they were talking to was Vhassar Jagiellon. Vhassar was the Head of the Merchant's Guild, who technically had a say in who went to trade where and for what. In practice, that power could be easily hijacked by individual merchants, were they rich enough to afford to bribe the right people. Jagiellon was a different breed however. Strict with rules, he had dominated Braavosi trading routes for 30 years. And he happened to be his adoptive father's brother-in-law. A bit insecure in his old age, but nonetheless useful.

Seeing his firm stance, Vhassar relented. "We shall see it done, your Serene Highness. But as to the effectiveness of such a ban, I cannot guarantee." He left the room and Aerion looked at Nestoris.

"Can you see to it that the Bank does the same?"

"I will try, but I warn you, it will not be easy."

"Mhm."

"You know well enough just how deeply we are involved with them. Some of us, I mean. Should you push too hard, you know the others won't hesitate for long before-"

"...the start plotting against me, yes. I know."

"Why are you so interested in this? Ending slavery, I mean? Don't get me wrong, I am no fan of the institution either. Yet, it has existed since the dawn age, when Grazdan zo Ghiscar decided that enslaving the poor people would help him overcome all the troubles that plagued his people."

"Yes and he regretted it in the end, at least judging by the ancient manuscripts the old man keeps in his treasury. Kept, I mean. His people became so pathetic by the end of his life, that even he began loathing them and himself."

"History lessons are for scholars, my liege. You are yet to answer."

"I detest it. That is all."

"Idealist then. I always thought you could tame that side of yours."

"Just see it done. By the end of it all, I will reforge the Free Cities into a second Valyria. One free of slavery this time."

"Perhaps you would be wise to name it something else. Valyria is not a popular name around here."

"Yet, they chose me as Sealord."

"People love their heroes." Tycho rose from his seat. "I will do my best, sire."

* * *

His strategy was successful, albeit slow. Within three moons, he manages to force Pentos and Myr to fully abandon slavery. They were easy targets however, the real problem were the other ones. The Tyroshi slavers were the worst outside Slaver's Bay and Lys thrived on its pleasure houses. Volantis had 5 slaves for every free man, Lys 3 for every man. It was a nightmare.

"We have arrived, Sealord." The man driving his wheelhouse said and Aerion exited it. An Astapori slaver ship had crashed on Braavosi soil and the slaves onboard were detained. Taking an interest, and as an excuse to take a break from the palace business, Aerion went to see to it personally.

"My Lord, what is to be your verdict? The Masters have arrived, claiming ownership, and demand the return of their slaves." said the officer at the place. A fat sleazy Ghiscari mongrel, whose hair was shaped like a bird, bellowed something to his servant, who translated.

"His Magnificence demands the return of his property immediately. Valuable Unsullied and pleasure slaves who belong to him and him alone."

The servant girl had been hidden behind the Master's obese figure and only when she spoke did Aerion recognize the familiar voice. The one he had failed to protect. "Missandei?"

The girl's eyes widened in surprise. "How does your worship know this one's former name?"

The Ghiscari pulled her roughly by the hand and bellowed something, but Aerion got lost in his rage and smashed his fist in the man's nose. The fat man stumbled on his ass and three of his slaves were needed to raise his fat ass up.

The slaver shouted something in his mongrel tongue. This time Aerion had no need for translation, he could understand him clear enough. "Missandei, dear. Please, translate my exact words."

The golden eyed girl nodded. "Listen here, you obese swine-shaped fuck. This is Braavos. There are no slaves here and I don't give a shit how much money you have. These slaves were free men the second they set foot on our lands. That includes these people here. Get your fat ass back to your shit cities before I burn you alive."

As shy as she still was, Missandei had obviously translated most of what he said, because the slaver's face got red with rage. Aerion did not give a shit. He gave him a chance.

"Dracarys." He muttered and spat fire at the greasy Ghiscari mongrel and watched as the man ran, while flames covered his flesh. He tried to run at least, he did not get far. Charred bones was all that was left of him.

When he glanced at the terrified former slaves and his own guards and officials, he merely smirked. "What? He was never here. He must have gotten lost along the way."

The terrified scribe looked at him. "Are we...free?" She asked meekly.

"Yes, you are. Welcome to Braavos, my dear. You are all safe now." 

After directing Missandei and one of his men to go to the slaves and explain that they were free men, the guarding official had already recovered from the shock. "You disapprove? Or did I stutter?"

"N-n-no, Your Serene Highness, but..."

"But?"

"It has always been the practice to at least pay for the ship."

"Ah, yes. We should not let people believe us to be greedy. Send the appropriate sum to Astapor. Not for the slaves though."

* * *

Missandei had decided to stay on as his scribe, saying that she had nowhere else to go. No one on Naath would remember her, she says. For his part, Aerion is glad to have her once more. According to Missandei, the ship had belonged to a corsair, who had purchased the slaves onboard for a private army. The man he had killed was one of the Good Masters of Astapor, Kraznys mo Nakloz. 

_Some things remain the same._ He thought to himself. Yet, if his memory served him well, Kraznys in the other life was slimmer. _Still a grease stain though._

"How did you know this one's name?"

At that he struggled to answer. Would she think him mad, if he told her the truth? Missandei had always been like Daenerys' sister, though Aerion kept in mind that this Missandei wouldn't know him. Them. After thinking about it, he decided to answer.

"Do you believe in the concept of past lives, Missandei?"

"Yes. On Naath, we believe that people who die are immediately reborn as new people elsewhere."

"Well, I remember my past life. I knew you in my past life. I know this sounds mad, but I wanted to keep you safe this time. And....you are a person, not an object. You should start to refer to yourself as one, too."

For a while only silence followed. Missandei studied his face and he had no idea what was to happen. Then, surprisingly, she smiled. "This...I saw you spit fire like a dragon earlier today. I wouldn't be surprised if what you are saying is true."

 _Gods, is she perfect or what? It went easier than I expected. Much easier._ "Well, thank you. I know that with my family history it would be easy to mistake this for madness."

"But I do not know your family history, my lord?" She tilted her head.

"First time for everything." He muttered. "Look, I would ask you to stay on as my scribe, translator and what not. I know that you are trustworthy and I would like to see to it that you are safe. Of course, if you have changed your mind about returning to Naath or going anywhere else..."

"No, this one will be honored to stay." she smiled again. "We've heard about you in the east. The Man who would break our chains. This one....I would ask for my brothers to stay, too. Marselen and Mossador. They are Unsullied, but they could be guards or..."

"Of course. All of the freedmen are welcome to stay. I will find work and lodgings for them. I will take care of everything, I promise."

"Valar Morghulis."

"Valar Dohaeris. Wait a moment, you are not a man. How convenient for you."

The Unsullied unfortunately have little else to do, but fight. As controversal as the move was, he had appointed the 100 Unsullied as city guards, but had made it clear they were free men and would receive fair wage and a place to live in. MIssandei he tasked with organizing a spy network, which while difficult was not impossible. Among them was even Grey Worm and Aerion couldn't help but think if perhaps that unlikely romance could bloom again.

Within a moon's turn, she had already established such in several cities nearby and he could only hope she expanded it quickly enough for the next stage - inciting slave revolts.

* * *

On a sunnier day than most, he had decided to inspect the docks at the Purple harbor. His own personal ship was nearing completion.

"What should I name it I wonder?"

"Men oft name their ships after loved ones, Your Grace. Perhaps after your brother or mother."

"Perhaps, but a bit boring no? How about.....The Horny Boar? After the Usurper's death?"

He heard Jorah snigger even before turning to look at him. "That would be a very...original name, My King."

"Oh, there we go again."

"There is nothing wrong with him calling you king, Rion. You are one." Qarro exclaimed.

"We all have to play our roles, I suppose."

 _Like Bellegere._ He figured. Aerion knew she did not return his feelings, no matter how many nights they shared. It was alright though. Sharing his bed with someone he could trust not to stab him in the heart was a gift enough. Love was never meant for the Mother of Dragons. _Or the Fire Lord. They do call me so. Clever play on words, if not a little unimaginative._

While contemplating, he could barely notice the assassin lurking in the crowd. He did not notice him when he lunged at Aerion, but somebody else did. As soon as they heard the commotion, Aerion and his friends turned to see an old man with a sword pointed towards the throat of the felled assassin.

_Guess they all might find their way back to me._

"Stand back, My king. This man is no simple elder with a sword. I had seen you only at a distance, yet there is no mistaking you at close. Sealord, this is Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Usurper's Kingsguard."

 _And there we go again._ "Ser Barristan, you are a long way from home."

"I no longer serve the Baratheons, My King. Ser Jorah. I have come to pledge myself to the rightful king. Should you accept, Your Grace, I will not fail you again."

_Always the spectacle with that guy. He is after all, Ser Barristan the Bold._

"Rise to your feet, Ser. Welcome to this raggedy bunch of exiles. I accept your fealty."

"My king, you cannot trust him."

"As I couldn't trust you?" he questioned sharply. "Need I remind you for whom you used to work?"

Ser Jorah bowed his head in acceptance. Following that, Aerion decided to make Ser Barristan the new First Sword of Braavos.

* * *

Later the same month, he had heard of Stannis Baratheon having come to beg the Iron Bank for money and Aerion could not resist to meet him.

Daenerys had always somewhat regretted that she never had to meet any of the Usurper's family, even his wife's bastards. Aerion had heard of Stannis, of course. The Old Man would say on occasion how the man, who chased him away from Dragonstone as an infant lived not too far from Braavos. He would later hear of Stannis' bid for kingship and his obsession with the Lord of Light. Aerion himself worshipped the God, but he was no fanatic. He knew that zealots only cause trouble and he had wondered how the would-be king was influenced to convert, given the unpopularity it would give him.

Stannis had recently lost the Battle of the Blackwater. A devastating defeat, which from Daenerys' knowledge of the old timeline, he knew had practically been the end for him. Then again, he remembers how the Imp had noted Stannis died fighting the Boltons in the North, so apparently he tried again. And failed.

He headed incognito to the Iron Bank's headquarters and practically barged in on the board member's meeting with Stannis. 

The look on the Last Stag's face was palpable. He looked older than his years, hair graying, eyes darkened with tiredness. _Not particularly impressive._ Next to him, his most ardent supporter. _And later Jon's._ Davos Seaworth, a good man. That was how he could sum him up. Quaithe had told him that Davos had survived everything and served on the Broken King's small council, until retiring. Daenerys had liked him well enough. One of the few westerosi lords she had nothing against. 

"Forgive me, Sealord, but this is a private meeting." Exclaimed Tycho, the man who had also informed Aerion of said meeting. Then again, saving faces and all. 

"Well, I am also a Golden Keyholder. I should think that I ought to be present, no?"

Stannis gritted his teeth, while Aerion told Noho Dimittis to remove himself from the middle seat and the Dragon of Braavos sat on it, feet put on the table. Behind his chair stood Ser Barristan.

Instead of addressing Aerion, Stannis looked at Ser Barristan. "Ser Barristan Selmy, when I heard that you had gone to serve the rightful king, I had hopes that you would seek me out."

"I did go to serve the rightful king, my lord." the former kingsguard responded. "Apologies if you thought it was you."

Stannis merely grumbled and then looked at Aerion. "So it's true then, the new Sealord of Braavos is the last Targaryen."

"It is."

"I suppose you are rather pleased, with your smugness and all. Watching how my family is tearing itself apart must be quite satisfying."

"It is indeed. I spent my childhood fearing your brother, his assassins. Then I hear he got killed by a boar, his wife cuckolded him with her brother, the Kingslayer. The other two Baratheons killing each other. How could I not be jubilant? You would be too, were you in my shoes."

"Am I to assume that the deal is off?"

"It is. These fine gentlemen believe you would get them their money back. But you, poor fool, you have no idea how much it is do you? And even if you did, would you win still?"

"You want it for yourself, Targaryen." Stannis snarled. 

"No, not really. Though you are not able to take it. We both know that." He let that thought sink in. "Why even try? Surely after the Blackwater you would have realized it? The Lannisters could have given you Storm's End if you were to ask enough times. Sure, you will have to kneel for them, yet it is the best you've got."

"THE IRON THRONE IS MINE!" Stannis shouted, "It is my right and duty."

Aerion chuckled. "Right? Duty? What does that matter anymore? Nobody gave two shits about that when they sent my family into exile. Your grandmother was a Targaryen and it was all Robert needed to be accepted as king, instead of the king's younger son, my brother Viserys. Nobody gives two shits about your blood rights and duties."

"I take it the loan is refused then, Sealord?"

"It is, Nestoris."

Stannis had raged and left the room. Before Davos could follow, Aerion stopped him.

"I am sorry, I have to ask, why are you following him? I know what I said was mean, but a common man like yourself surely realizes the truth to it?"

Glancing sideways, Davos responded. "Look, Your Highness. I understand that Stannis is many things, but he is no villain. During the Rebellion, he was besieged at Storm's End and I sneaked in to sell him food. He repaid me by giving me knighthood and lands and punished me for smuggling by cutting my fingers on the left hand. He would make a good king."

"You admire him?" he asked. "You won't do so for long. I hear he sacrifices people to boost his luck. What if he grew desperate enough to sacrifice you? Or his own daughter even?" Aerion had heard how that had ended. An empty sacrifice, yet no less gruesome."

Davos sighed. "I believe it won't come to that."

It was Aerion's turn to be exasperated. "Oh, what the hell? You can tell your king, that he owes it all to you."

"Owes what?"

"Right now, two mercenary companies reside within the city, looking for employment. The Windblown and the Stormcrows. 3500 men in total. I presume that is what he needed the money for, right? I will buy them for you."

The look on Davos' face was quite comical. "Why would you do that?"

"The more chaos there is in Westeros the better. I prefer it that way, just in case I change my mind, as unlikely as it is. Besides, let's see if your _good king_ , can fulfill your hopes."

"I....thank you. But what would you want in return?"

"Just make sure Stannis begins paying that massive debt the Iron throne owes the bank. If he ever gets to sit on it. You will find your old friend, Saladhor Saan, in the city as well by the way. Tell him I sent you."

After saying his thanks, Davos left.

Was it a waste of money? Most likely. It wasn't like he couldn't waste some of his enormous fortune. Besides, if Stannis and the Lannisters were to slaughter each other.....so much the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be a two part chapter, because this was getting too long. 
> 
> Next chapter: The culmination of Aerion's war on slavery and reactions in Westeros on his rise


	4. The Hegemon (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Conclusion of Aerion's War against Slavery and reactions across the sea

Blood. Fire. Death.

Those were words often associated with House Targaryen. Normal as it was, it still irked him. For what was a dragon, who did not bring death.

Dragons plant no trees, they say. Yet it was Aegon who forged from seven kingdoms one. 

It was all confusing. None of it mattered, not really. A man was a man. A creature of its own choices. 

_Was this what these men felt when they decided to come here and try to kill me?_

The Sorrowful men were assassins, based in Qarth. They were called so, because they would whisper their regret to whoever they were killing. A mark of the Qartheen, who were always so polite, even when they would tell you to go fuck yourself. One had to admire that amusing little qualitiy of theirs, even if it hardly mattered in the long term.

He had no time to admire them now, though. Frankly, it was a miracle he could feel anything other than bitter rage.

_I love you, you silly man._

Those were Bellegere's last words to him. Last and first. The only words he wanted to hear from her. Why would the fucking gods be so cruel as to make her say them only when she was dying? Were they sick, or simly did not care?

The square where they were celebrating the foundation of the city was in flames. Gone were the decorations, charred and burnt, blood everywhere. Most of the assassins lay dead, the rest trembled and tried to run but Aerion would not let them.

He snapped his wings outwards so that the wind would force the men closer. 

Yes. Wings. 

He had wings. And scales, silver like his hair. Massive jaws, filled with sword-like teeth, horns on his head, spikes, running along his spine. A massive tail. 

Massive like the rest of him. 

He didn't know how he had transformed, yet he had suspected that he was too much like a dragon. Occasionally attracted to heights, which led him to climb atop the rooftop of the palace more and more often. Aerion and Daenerys had never heard of men who could transform into dragons. They both knew the legends of Aerion Brightflame, another namesake, who thought he would turn into one if he drank wildfire. It....didn't work.

Despite not knowing how, he knew when. He remembered the boundless rage that obsessed him, when he heard Bellegere's last words. The anger, the self-loathing, the misery, the hatred. That burning hatred had enveloped him like a shroud of silvery fire, which made him into the most powerful creature in the known world.

A dragon. He was a big fucking DRAGON!

Hellish fury was unleashed through his breath as the small army of assassins started turning to dust and charred meat.

By the time he was done with them, his rage had not ceased, so he flew away from all this. Away to the outskirts of the city, abandoned and thus safe for him to unleash the rest of his fury, if any was still left.

* * *

"What am I?" He asked, voice hoarse from the tears he had wept. Quaithe stood there, tall, masked and unyielding.

"You are a dragon. You will never hatch eggs, you are the egg. And it has hatched. The Dragon King. Or queen. Whatever you believe yourself to be."

"And she had to die?", he asked bitterly. "Do not lie to me! If he sees everything, then surely your God could have warned me of this?!"

"The God fulfills his objectives. The details are irrelevant."

" **They are to me!** ", they shouted. Aerion and Daenerys, man and dragon, both.

"You have the power to fulfill your mission. Use it."

He got to his feet and walked past her, stopping just behind her back. "Your Lord has an odd way of gaining worshippers, _Shiera Seastar._ "

He did not see her face, but still he could feel the surprise on the face behind the mask."

"So you have figured it out?"

"You look well for a woman your age. However you achieve it I wonder?"

"My identity matters little, I serve the Lord's will. Have been doing so for 100 years now."

He turned around to face her. "Fuck your God. Fuck your faith. Fuck you, my dearest teacher. This is my life, my world, my will. I will do as I like and if by some circumstance our goals align, then very well. If not, well your God might as well watch his back. Dragons answer to neither gods nor men."

"The Lord expects nothing less."

On the following day, the whole city was in uproar. Everyone knew of their dragon sealord, of the assassins and of the death of the beloved Black Pearl.

The reactions among the citizens are mixed about the first. Many were terrified, while others praised their sealord's power, singing of victories untold against the slavers to the south. In the end, the Lord of Light's followers claimed him the Prince that was Promised, the chosen savior and liberator. 

"I am no prince, I am no savior. I am a ma with a purpose. And that purpose is the end of slavery."

Those words were given to the people of the city and they chanted his name again. Their dragon. The Dragon of Braavos. 

He hardened his stance. He sent many men, many former slaves to Astapor, to Yunkai, to Meereen, to New Ghis. One purpose - rebellion. A slave rebellion to shake the whole cities. 

It was mere moons until the results of his work bore fruit. Massive revolts plagued the cities like greyscale. The slaves, till then seemingly domesticated and docile, drew daggers and slit the throats of their owners. Men. Women. Children. Old and Young, Ghiscari blood flowed through the streets of Slaver's Bay. 

His fleets had already been present, prepared to plunder the corpses of the cities like jackals. Aerion himself flew high into the clouds, spitting silver flames onto the pyramids, torching these monuments of oppression, turning them to ruin. 

City after the city was visited by the Silver Dragon, merciless and cruel and without pity. When his work was done, there was little trace of civilization left within the Slaver's Bay, which men later renamed to The Bay of Ashes. The Unsullied were left masterless, safe for their draconic liberator, who took them under his wing. The Yunkish and Mereenese slaves were freed and many were aided in returning home. Others needed new homes, which Aerion did his best to provide. New Ghis ended like the old one, ashes and harpies with clipped wings all that were left. Its slaves too sharing the fate of the others - freedom. Whether forced or willingly taken, freedom. 

Neither Aerion nor Daenerys were as idyllic as that, both knowing some slaves liked their chains. Yet they would learn differently. He was building a new world, free of the chains of the old one.

 **"There is no room for the old world."** Those were their words to them.

In the coming weeks, he had gathered all the magisters, princes and triarchs of all the free cities in the Disputed lands. A large tent, the size of a keep was built to house all the distinguished folk of nobility and wealth. All the mighty men were gathered, hundreds of them and thousands behind them still. Millions of men in their cities. Here, to make history.

"My friends, we have gathered here today to discuss the future of the Free Cities. As you know, recent events have forced the slave trade to come to an abrupt end. Now, I know many of you blame me for ruining your business and all that. I understand, but we all know that you wouldn't be here unless you had no alternative to protecting your wealth. I propose this: the establishment of a Free City States Alliance, with myself as its first Hegemon. As such I shall secure the economic and territorial stability of our fair cities in return for your allegiance to my leadership. You will also receive a fare compensation from all the wealth we have acquisitioned from Slaver's Bay, apart from slaves of course. Well, all in favor?"

They argued of course. Many of them were wealthy precisely because of that detestable institution and all benefitted from it. After all, many and more of them never had the need to learn how to wipe their own asses, because of their slaves. Yet, all that was over now. In Volantis, the slaves outnumbered the free men 5 to 1. In Lys and Myr - 3 to 1. Similar numbers in the others, free cities in name only. 

The Triarchs of Volantis argued, raged and ranted. Two calling him the last dragonlord, the one man worthy of making such a proposal, while the other preached against "Braavosi tyranny". The Lysene smiled, yet Aerion could hear their little whisperings of poison and deceit. The Myrish cared little so long as their city's achievements were not turned to nothing by a slave revolt. The Tyroshi were against of course, the Archon unwilling to cede power. The Norvoshi and Qohorik kept silent, while the Pentoshi and Lorathi were all for it. 

He called forward the Archon of Tyrosh and the brazen Triarch. The two men stood tall and proud, raging about his insolence until Aerion opened his own mouth. Instead of words and arguments he gave them the only thing they could not refute - fire and blood. Spreading silvery wings above them, two identical shadows being cast upon his new subjects, he proclaimed himself their leader.

Perhaps fearful from their new leader's awesome power or cowed into submission by naught but the mighty pull of the potential profits they could gain, the men and women kneeled before him.

On that stormy day, Aerion Targaryen became the first ever Hegemon of the Free Cities and the Free City States Alliance was forged. 

Some thought that the dragon's day would pass soon enough, but little did they know that the Free Cities would never again leave the dragons' grasp again.

* * *

Tyrion's little feet trotted towards the small council chamber as fast as they could. It would do little good to keep his 'gracious' father waiting. It must have been very important, if they were summoned in the middle of the night. As soon as he reached the room, he saw that the whole small council was there. _This isn't good. Even you wouldn't wake us for something little, father._

"You are late. Sit."

Tyrion was too sleepy to argue so he did as told. He took the head seat as he loved to do, looking straight at his father on the other end. The old cunt Pycelle was there, next to the Spider, Baelish and even his whorish sister, who had dignified them with her presence."

"What is so important that you wake us in the middle of the night, father? Has our esteemed king accidentally killed his future bride or something?"

None laughed at his jape, which was a pity, considering that it may well happen with Joff as king. It was beyond his ability to understand why father couldn't see that the greatest threat to Joffrey's reign was Joffrey himself. 

"Tell them what you told me Varys."

The eunuch made a show of appearing appalled and spoke: "It would appear that the Last Targaryen had attained some power, my lords."

"Surely that is something we all are well aware of?" Tyrion couldn't help but exclaim. He had known of the boy, Aerion Targaryen, who had been fostered by the Sealord and recently succeeded him. In fact, he had spent much of his days as acting hand, worrying that the boy may well strike King's Landing with the famous fleets of Braavos, which far surpassed even those of the Redwynes. Fortunately, just like the Spider claimed, the boy had little interest in the Iron Throne.

"It is more than that, my good master of coin." exclaimed Varys. "It would seem that the Sealord of Braavos has crushed the Slave trade rather swiftly. Slaver's bay is now called the Bay of Ashes, fittingly enough, and the other free cities have bent the knee to him, hailing him as their Hegemon."

"Tell me you do not fear a child, halfway across the world?" Cersei said, using her hand to hide her yawning. _Sweet sister, learn your geography, for Braavos is not that far away._

"He has the strongest claim to the throne, Cersei. More to the point, it would seem that he has funded Stannis Baratheon, who now is in the North, trying to overthrow our new regime."

That was the most confusing part. While the Spider's sources claimed that the Iron Bank had not given Stannis a single copper, he had still left Braavos with two mercenary companies and a sellsails fleet.

"So how do you intend to handle the threat, my lord? By force?", the cunt Pycelle asked. A stupid proposal, all things considered. Robert had spared no expense in sending assassins after the boy, yet none of them were successful. Further attempts by the new regime would be inadvisable. 

"Assassination would not work, considering all of Robert's failed efforts. Yet, all our sources say that the Targaryen has claimed to have no interest in the Iron Throne. That is why we must try to make him an ally instead of an enemy."

"What?" 

"I have decided to extend an invitation to Braavos for their Sealord to attend the royal wedding between King Joffrey and Lady Margaery."

The small council chambers erupted in arguments, mostly stemming from Cersei.

All Tyrion could think about was how the city had suddenly become a lot more dangerous.

_Wolves, Stags, Roses, Lions and now - Dragons. This ought to make the royal wedding a lot more interesting._


End file.
